A Christmas message of a different sort
(Note: This was originally published several years ago. In attempting to correct some text issues it has been published again. Hope it's still likeable.)
For some weird reason my thoughts have been on this children’s book “Push, Pull Empty, Full” the past couple days. I used to teach pre-school. That book by Tana Hoban was one I used to read to my “kids” to teach them opposites. I personally still have a problem with those concepts. I push on a door that clearly must be pulled open. I pull people who maybe need a little push in the right direction. I see my glass as half-empty, rather than half-full. Or I see my life as too full of stuff and empty of substance.
In thinking about all this I started thinking about Christmas.
What?
Yeah.
Christmas.
And Easter.
I know, I know. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet. It might help to know there are three other words that are consuming my thoughts — filled, covered, and empty. Let me take you where my brain is going. (It took my heart with it so you might want to get strapped in.)
At Christmas there are a lot of nativity scenes on illuminated lawns and coffee tables, under decorated trees. In all of them is a manger where we lay baby Jesus, all nice and tidy. The truth is Jesus most likely entered the world on a straw-covered stone floor in a cave that was repurposed as a stable. It was common for animals to be kept that way, but not common for humans to give birth there. The bedroll carried by Mary and Joseph served as a delivery “table,” the only barrier between the warmth of heaven and His mother’s body and the ice-cold stone and dirty straw.
That stable was also most likely very crowded with animals. It was busy in town, with lots of travelers who needed to board their transportation. The manger, Jesus’ bed, was also of stone, a carved indentation in the rock deep enough to hold hay and water for those animals. So those nativity scenes where Mary and Joseph are calmly sitting behind a wooden, straw-filled manger waiting for the shepherds and wise men to show up is not quite right. Mary and Joseph had to step aside to allow the shepherds an audience with the tiny King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Jesus’ earthly parents are like us (if we dare) — willing, trusting servants. Not the center of attention. That was reserved for God and God alone.
The manger was full. It was rock, fashioned to provide necessities of life for God’s creatures. First filled with life-giving food and water; then filled with the Living Water and Bread of Life in human form.
Fast-forward 33 years. That beautiful little baby no longer fills a manger. Now He is not recognizable. He has been beaten beyond looking like a man. Beard forcibly removed from His face. Flesh pulled from muscle in strips. Bones exposed. Blood covers every place His feet land. Stones were covered with His blood. Dirt is mingled with it. His cross was covered in blood. The wood absorbed His blood, was stained by it. Our sin was covered in blood. His blood. The mess of our lives — not yet lived — was covered with the mess of the ending of His human life.
A filled manger led to the covered cross. And that led to an empty tomb.
Imagine the scene — Mary with John at the foot of the cross where Jesus hangs dead. His mother and best friend grieving together, both knowing this is not the end; but the sights of the past days filled their minds and hearts. And I imagine they cannot get past their present vision to view the coming victory.
Just days before an exuberant crowd welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem. They worshipped Him — many for the wrong reason. They expected Him to end the Roman rule, to forcibly take over and take the throne. Some knew the truth — that Jesus does not force Himself on anyone. He reigns by invitation only — including in the lives of those who say they follow Him, but “live” for Him in name only.
After this joyful celebration, Jesus joined his disciples for a final meal. I have to point out here that He knew what we wish we did. He knew His future. He knew every blow that would strike Him, the words to His agonized prayer in Gethsemane, the friends that would deny Him, that would run in fear. He knew.
Can you imagine how we would live if we knew how our life would end? How we would feel knowing our friends would mistreat us? I know I would try to change the outcome. But Jesus didn’t. He pressed on, full of the knowledge of what was going to happen; but filled with so much love and compassion for this unlovely and merciless mass of humans. His creation. Intended to be and possess so much more than we are and have. He became what we needed — a sacrifice — to be what He wants for us.
Mary watched it all. As she watched her son die for me, I wonder if she thought about that visit from Gabriel from whom she learned she would be the deliverer of our Deliverer. What must she have thought when she realized her son was born to shed His blood to cover my sin. Would I allow His will to supersede mine? Would all that happened be worth it?
In her grief I wonder if she remembered that this physical end was not an end at all but a beginning. We know she knew God’s plan, but in her human self, taking on the pain her child suffered as a mother is wont to do, did she remember what was to come?
Because three days later there was an empty tomb. Empty. Devoid of a body. And yet filled. Full of meaning and wonder. Grave clothes no longer holding their prisoner. A folded napkin explaining Jesus’ imminent return. That is all the tomb held. Yet the air was full of promise.
“Empty” can mean “full.”
An empty glass is really full of air.
A heart empty of its own desires can be full of God’s.
As I look at the mangers that will be decorating my world this Christmas I will try to keep in mind the words God has impressed on me. I will remember that the full manger led to a covered cross and an empty tomb; and that my covered sins change my empty life to one of fullness.
Cynthia Shroyer is a freelance journalist residing in Laramie, Wyoming. She welcomes comments at cynthia.shroyer@gmail.com.
